sparks fly

i have some catching up to do with myself and this process that is the recovery from divorce. i could write all day and night about it and the reality would be that it will reverberate for much longer than i would like. damn ass-munch and his legacy of pain. did i mention he's a fucktard? yeah, thought so.

honestly i haven't been thinking about it much lately. why? could be that fucktard is officially ex-fucktard. maybe it's the fact that i don't have the constant worry of "what if's" around every corner. i couldn't really give a rats-ass as to why i don't think of it, i'm just enjoying the ease of my everyday. it's well deserved and a relief to have that chapter of my life behind me and behind my kids. i'm very thankful.

one of the many perks that has come from cutting that ass-munch out of my life...that term is so deplorably under used...is my ability to focus on the gifts that surround me. since mid december i have been able to enjoy my children more, my freedom more, my creativity, my ability to just sit in silence, my freedom to cry or laugh or do a little of both. it's liberating and unless you've gone through something of this magnitude, whether it be marriage, divorce, a loss, a gain, a major life change, a shift in the universe, well, i'm afraid you just don't understand. i certainly didn't until i went through it.

the best way to describe the way i'm feeling lately is the magic that happens when sparks fly. sparks fly? jeez, i want to smack myself for making such a cliche remark. romanticized bullshit, and i'm one to call bullshit without hesitation, but there's some truth in the term. sparks do indeed take flight. they ignite. they don't burn away. they spark another reaction. a combustion that is all it's own. it's the beginning of another reaction that causes yet another reaction and so on and so on. i was reminded of this today when justin was showing off his wrench turning skills by giving my car a little tlc. it's only fair since he gave my "engine" some serious attention last night. yowza! that man fucking rocks my world!!

back to the other engine...so today we took on the project of draining and replacing my oil and oil filter. i am well on my way from my position as "motorhead girlfriend" into full fledged "motorhead apprentice" and i'm totally diggin getting my hands dirty and figuring out how things tick. this is right up my alley. we, and yes i did do a little time under the hood of my car, also replaced my spark plugs. this, as it turns out, is really a rather simple task. takes some elbow grease to get those little suckers out. takes some patience and precision reinstalling them but in general it's a matter of doing the job properly.

like most ladies out there, and yes that is an incredibly chauvinistic generalization, i knew little about the power of the spark plug in relation to a vehicle's performance. for instance, i had no idea a spark plug needed to be "calibrated" to just the right distance to produce the correct spark. i had no idea that there was a scientific formula to such. I was also surprised to know that if said spark plug is not calibrated correctly that it can have an effect on how quickly and efficiently your engine starts. it's all about the proper fit, the proper calibration, that brings about that spark and eventually the combustion of fuel. fascinating really but i am trying to make a point here. just don't remember where it's gone...hey look, SQUIRREL!

as i was hovered over the engine and listening carefully to my 1-800-own-a-stud instructor, i found myself stopped in time. as if everything slowed down by a few seconds. i was savoring it. i noticed the distinguished wrinkles around justin's eyes, the velvet tone of his deep southern drawl, watching him turn his wrench, his hands beaten and weathered, appreciating the tender way he was teaching me what he knows about being a motorhead, i realized that things are starting to become calibrated, balanced for me. i have an incredibly stable, well adjusted starting point. yes, i'm still an unemployed and multi-directional artist (multi-directional sounds so much better than unfocused artsy shithead). yes, i'm still financially on shaky ground. yes, i'm still a mom who doubts her ability to raise well adjusted kids. and yes, i am still dependent on my food addiction as a means of coping. hey, miracles don't happen over night. but goddamn do i have a spark!

i can't take credit for that spark alone. nope. i owe it to my family and my friends and my beautiful children and this wonderful man with whom i am able to share my life. i'm at just the right measurement, just the right calibration to produce that spark. just the right balance of fierce passion and leveled sensibility. for the first time in my life i actually feel like i'm going to light things up for myself. it's not that i feel invincible. instead i feel like my very own catalyst. i'm not afraid of burning up. the flame is not what i need to carry. i just need to make sure that sparks fly and the rest of it will ignite on it's own. no need to worry about the rest of the steps.

i just need that one action to cause a reaction. how perfectly simple.
today i'm thankful for that gift. the gift i have in myself to know that i am that one step.
i'm the one who will make that spark fly.

i'm on the mend

i have been rather introspective lately. the changes in my life are almost too much to comprehend. i'm divorced, i'm in love, i am love, i am a burning spear. which one of those on which day is another story. it's just too fucking much to comprehend all at once. slowly starting to crawl around and see what i'm made of deep down. so in my soul searching as of late i've been inspired to write. here, there, whenever. for some reason, i wanted to post this one for posterity. sort of like holding your breath and waiting to exhale. i'm exhaling and now i can fill my lungs again. this time with virgin air. 

on the mend

 

i'm here

one more day that i've survived

i'm breathing on my own

wake me

wake me with my name

was it your voice that whispered

was it your fire against my cheek

i'm here

are you ready

dizzy spinning

wheels turning

end over end

close your eyes and stay a while

we will wander

after all

we are not permanent

set me on fire

my soul will not burn

dark and pooling

glorious and naked

the wheels come off

but i'm on the mend

stitches and glue

where does the water end

and i begin

catch it and mend it

can you catch water

i'm on the mend

monday monday

it has come down to this. a friday before a monday. in a few short days i will know one way or another which way to turn. it's all overwhelming to think of and know the consequences are so great. on the other hand i feel prepared and grounded. could say these concrete shoes aren't such a bad idea after all.

it has been three months, three excruciatingly long months, since assface (i have tired of the fucktard monicker so thought about trying out assface) and i sat down with our attorneys and a mediator to try and hammer out a settlement agreement. after 6 hours of what would turn out to be useless negotiations, i walked away. resigning myself to the fact that i would have to move forward and take him before a judge. let a judge decide the fate of our property, our children, our lives. wow, me no likey other people making decisions about my entire life without so much as my input!!!!


i walked away from that meeting not at all disappointed with the outcome but again disappointed with his inability to change. blah blah blah....get the hell over it, e!! did you really expect something else??? long story short, fast forward 3 months later and we are now at a stand still. assface (not sure this name is working yet) made me an offer three months ago with no written agreement. in 3 months time we have been back and forth and back and forth again. this time, he has had an agreement, a final draft after i don't know how many changes, for 2 weeks. 2 entire fucking weeks and he has yet to respond.

i had a real epiphany, big surprise, when i had to let my children go the other night. it was halloween. every year on halloween the kids get dressed up and go trickin and treatin in the neighborhood with other kids and their families. this year turd-knuckle (not sure where this one came from but i kind of like it) had the children for the weekend. so instead of me taking them around the hood, he had the honors. and it is an honor. being able to share that experience with our children is special. more special than i realized. so here i am. i picked them up for about an hour and got them ready in their costumes, took some pictures of them, let them visit with my parents and then it was time to drop them off back at the house. what happened next was unexpected.

i stood in my yard, my grass that i painstakingly care for, surrounded by the overgrown shrubbery that i planted, surrounded by the house that i put so much time and care and love into and it wasn't mine. it just wasn't mine anymore and this place didn't belong to me and i didn't belong to it. it hurt. it hurt deep down in my bones and i suddenly felt overwhelmed with sadness and hurt which translated itself into anger. to make matters worse, i had to leave my children there to take part in something that i enjoyed every damn year. every year i looked forward to halloween and now i had to pull out of my own driveway. it didn't make matters any better that turd-knuckle went out and bought great decorations for the holiday after years of telling me i couldn't do the same. fucker.

that's when it hit me. he has fucked with my life for long enough. i continue to be held by this man's incomprehensible hatred and disgust for me. i could have fucked his brother and still not deserved the abuse that i've received since leaving him. one of my best friends described him as a "dark soul". i had never thought of that term (personally i just like mother fucking piece of shit but dark soul works too) but it truly describes him. he has no joy. he has no happiness or genuine love. he is an empty man with an empty dark soul.

so i decided to put an end to this dragging of feet, holding it over my head. monday is the deadline. and when i say deadline, turd-knuckle has until noon on monday to have the agreement signed and on my attorney's desk. at 12:01 it expires. i won't accept it after that. this is a final chance for him. a chance that will benefit only one person and trust me on this one, he doesn't deserve it. he doesn't deserve this one last chance. one way or another monday is when i wash my hands of this debacle. it's also the day that the gloves come off for good.

somehow though i think i may be the only one who hears the timer. even i have a limit.

a laborer's hand

Of life's two chief prizes, beauty and truth, I found the first in a loving heart and the second in a laborer's hand.  
Kahlil Gibran

exploding dragons!!!

exploding dragons
mood: amused

so yeah. exploding dog aka sam brown has done it again.

i swear to you that this man must have me bugged to be able to illustrate my life, struggles, people who make up my existence so very well. again with the dragon series and i am absolutely in love with these two in particular. these are getting printed and hung in my house as soon as this whole debacle is over. 

Last Man Standing

In our old house we had a kitchen faucet that leaked. When I say leaked, I mean that the pipe under the sink would fill a regular size bucket in roughly a week’s time. It started after we had lived in the house about 2 years. I discovered it one day, with a 1 year old on my hip, and immediately told the man of the house. This was my first mistake. Second mistake was thinking that anything would be done to alleviate the problem.  Fast forward 8 years…the pipe was still leaking and every week the supposed “man” of the house would dump out the bucket. On and on and on it went until I finally got so damn tired of it that I called a plumber, didn’t tell Mr. Know It All and $35 later, the pipe was fixed. I was scolded. I was demeaned and so on and so on and so on. 

Yes, this was my reality. For 14 years I stayed with a man who was so completely irrational, so ridiculously stubborn that he would rather empty a bucket every week for 8 years than call a repair man and spend what he believed could have been an enormous amount of money. Yeah, a whopping $35…how does the saying go again? He cut off his nose to spite his face? Yep, that’s the one.

And this is what I find myself faced with yet again. I am at the tail end of what should have been an easy divorce agreement. We don’t have enormous assets or large bank accounts. We don’t have complicated bills or agreements or investments. We have very little in the grand scheme of things. Yet here I am 9 months after finally starting the divorce process, 11 months after leaving him and over a year into my wake up call for a better life. It’s a fucking three ring circus. But I’m not the ring master on this one. No sir, not me. This is all about fucktard and his need, his drive to punish me, control me and make everyone’s lives that much harder. 

We have gone back and forth, back and forth, and then, back and forth again. I feel like I’m chasing my tail. One day I have a firm grasp of things, issues, negotiating points and then less than 24 hours later, it is all turned upside down. Why? Who the fuck knows. I certainly don’t know anymore. This should have been signed, sealed and delivered long ago but time and time again he comes back with another stall tactic, another failed attempt at controlling me, another excuse as to why we can’t settle this entire matter once and for all.

What’s a smart woman to do? I’ll tell you what I did. I had my attorney finally schedule a trial date. I had my attorney send back the agreement for the millionth time and tell him that we were done negotiating. Either sign it or go to trial, end of discussion. Unfortunately, that’s the direction it seems to be heading. Off to trial to let a judge decide what we should and should not do. Granted, I am confident, as is my incredibly badass attorney, that the law is on my side and that I will get what I need from this divorce. Unfortunately for fucktard he is putting himself in a position to lose more custodial rights, visitation time with his children, required to give me significantly more spousal and child support, lose his right to overnight visits and lose his precious house.

All of this could have been avoided. All of it, all the pain he has caused his own flesh and blood, all the struggling and fighting and arguing and name calling. I’m not a perfect example of the proper way to handle a divorce, if there even is a right way, but each and every time I put our differences aside and try to do the right thing. It gets other people upset at me for not being tougher or meaner and I understand their frustration with me. But it’s my nature, my overly naïve nature, to put my anger to the side and try to move through it to a compromise or a middle ground.

That’s over. I’ve been pushed one too many times. I can honestly say that it’s a double edged sword having given him this ultimatum to either shit or get off the pot. If he signs it, I move onward and upward quickly and on the terms I have agreed upon. I’ve been craving this final piece of the puzzle for such a long time and I want it so badly. On the other hand I want to see him exposed for the man he is behind closed doors, away from this picture he has painted of himself as the victim. I want to expose the terrible things he has said to me, the way he has treated me, the way he has mistreated and disrespected his own children, refused to pay for their medical care, made bad decisions time and time again. And all of it, every last bit of it can and will be proven in court. But it delays my process of moving forward that much more. Caught between my desire for a fresh new start and my desire to make his life a living hell and take away everything he has taken away from me. That vengeful part of me is an ugly part and I rarely look her square in the mirror but right now, she’s shining back clear as day.

I never know what will happen next but it appears that I will know soon enough. All of this will be over soon, one way or another. All because he doesn’t want to pay the plumber to come take a look at the pipes, fix them properly and put everything back into working order. This may be the bucket that overflows on his ass and finally floods the kitchen. But that’s his choice, not mine.

knit me this

knit me this
Current mood:  bummed 

 

 

i recently took up a hobby that i find therapeutic. keeps my hands occupied, my mind calm and i get to make shit that looks purty. i have taught myself the art of crochet. yes, my nerdy undercoating is beginning to show. but fuck, it helps me get through some of the shenanigan's that go on around here.

as i was diligently working on a project this morning, in an effort to avoid my shitty ass day, i remembered something my mother told me a while ago. she has also been hit by the fiber bug and has been knitting like a fool lately so the metaphor is fresh in both of our minds.

the damage that i have done to myself over the years is not going to be undone overnight. like pulling a yarn on a sweater, it will not unravel immediately but row by meticulous row. each stitch is an individualized part of something larger. every single stitch was made and now needs to be unmade. so as much as we want that sweater to become undone and no longer be a sweater, it doesn't happen overnight. it takes just as long to unfuck it as it did to fuck it up. takes a while to wind that ball of yarn back up.

for me i don't want to remake that sweater. i want a new, individualized version of that sweater. something brighter, sweeter, prettier. it was way too heavy to begin with, never fit properly and didn't show off my voluptuous figure. i do however find a great deal of value in the yarn. my fibers are still sturdy and perfectly good. a little tattered, yes. i am definitely tattered and worn. on the inside and out. the inside is starting to come back together, or apart however the case may be. i'm already well on my way to rebuilding myself from deep down thanks to some serious love and support from so many that i hold so dear. the rebuilding of the exterior is another blog in and of itself but in due time.

however, the more and more that i unravel this shitty ass sweater, the more and more knots and tattered edges i find. it surprises me, really. it definitely wasn't stitched with care or love but was fucked up from the very first loop. i get to the end of the yarn and think, what more? what now? and then poof, there's more and it's even worse than the last row of stitches. fuck me! took me off guard just a few days ago when i was hit below the belt yet again. every time i think i'm at the end of the yarn, there's another ball waiting to be unfucked. i'm exhausted trying to unfuck my life and trying to handle all that it involves, including that piece of shit excuse of a man who did a good amount of the damage.

days like today make me feel like i should have left the sweater alone. i know that's not the real way that i feel but goddamn, give me a fucking break already! i would love just one small piece of stability or normalcy or a long uninterrupted pity party. maybe that's what i need. to hermit myself in my dark little hole and wallow for a while. i haven't done it in a while and perhaps it's just another part of the process. another unwinding, untangling, pulling out the stitches.